


Poison & Wine

by mamajustkilledaman



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel-centric, Coda, Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamajustkilledaman/pseuds/mamajustkilledaman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2am and his hands haven't stopped shaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison & Wine

It’s 2am and his hands haven’t stopped shaking.

 

It’s a feeble, human emotion, unfit for a holy being of light and righteousness. But Castiel has always been faulty, damaged; he’s been made with a crack in his chassis. 

On the back of his mind he knows he should be grieving for his father, but Chuck was an absent parent, a forgetful creator. He will later lament for the loss, for the lost chances for reconciliation, for affirmation. Right now he’s just numb.

His hands can’t stop shaking and yet he doesn’t even feel them moving.

It’s Metatron all over again, his words resonating through his bones, shaking him to the core.

_“Well guess what. He’s dead, too.”_

It would seem a meager bargain to most. A necessary sacrifice. What worth is the existence of a single man against the salvation of the world?

 _Everything_ , Castiel would answer. _Everything._

And through the worst of the pain that he still refuses to acknowledge, what pains him the most, is the knowledge that he has failed Dean in every aspect that mattered. He offered himself, a sacrificial lamb to the Devil, endured unspeakable suffering, and yet he wasn’t enough, was never good enough.  


_“Ultimately, it was all about saving one human, right?_

 

He couldn’t save Dean, he couldn’t even carry out the one job that he has entrusted him with, the most important of all; look after Sam. Now he’s banished, hundred miles away from home. The banishing sigil has left him weak, unable to act. Through his haze he worries about Sam’s safety, but even his concern for his closest friend cannot penetrate his numbness.

 

His hands still haven’t stopped shaking. 

 

These are the hands, he thinks. The hands that carried Dean out of Hell, the hands that rebuilt him, those that have soothed his wounds, that have felt his skin mend under his fingers.

The hands that have felt Dean’s bones crack under their force. 

The same hands that have clutched him tight at the cemetery, refusing to let go, his last connection to the person that mattered the most. Still matters the most.

_“I could go with you”_

It’s a selfish wish, to long not for death, but to depart from this world at his side. Castiel has the sudden, absurd thought, that if Gabriel could see him he would deem him pathetic.

It had thrummed in the space between them, the things they left unsaid, and the regret suddenly seizes his chest, chokes him up, makes his eyes well with tears he refuses to shed. It has gone on for years, this unfinished duet of theirs, but it always left him with a sense of maybe, one day. Maybe one day, when reality had taken a break, when the time was right. Nothing more than delusions -Castiel now understands- delusions of a fool. These weak emotions of him, betraying him again and again.

That was his problem right from the start, after all. Never quite an angel, never human enough, always teetering in between. There had been a day when he found comfort in the simplicity of his existence, created to serve, to obey. 

_“I'm not a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore.”_

If he has to think about it, that was probably the tipping point, the point which brought him here today, kneeling on the frigid gravel, staring blurredly at his trembling hands.

 

Why won’t his hands stop shaking?

 

If there was still a God, he thinks, Castiel would beg him, barter his life for Dean’s, his expendable existence for the luminous being of Dean’s soul. But God is dead, and the reality of it, the helplessness hits him, breaks his numbness, makes the hated, human, tears leak from his eyes, and his quivering hands come to cover his face. He will mourn now, will allow himself to feel the sorrow. He knows the pain will never truly go away, that it will become a part of his very existence. But right now he will ache and long for Dean. And after that he’ll rise from his knees, start his search for Sam, do his duty, always willing to be there, as he should. As he wants.

 

But first he needs to get his hands to stop shaking.

 

It’s weak at first, more of a feeling than a thought, but it steadily becomes louder, encompasses him, fills him with unexpected hope, steadies his trembling hands.

_“Hey Cas, you got your ears on?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, I hope you enjoy  
> Come find me on tumblr on mumjustkilledaman


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